Dean fell asleep at the kitchen table. He'd been researching late at night, a cup of coffee next to his laptop, a bag of ice on the other side. His arm still ached after a werewolf had thrown him across the room into a drywall.
He finds himself in the Impala, driving down the street in Kansas their house is in. He can see it, a few houses down. He knows his mom is in the kitchen, cooking dinner. Sammy wanted to help her, but watching Dean's driving lessons is far more interesting, so now he's sitting in the back seat, begging to be allowed to drive too.
But John, who's riding shotgun, somethin very unfamiliar for both him and Dean, keeps shaking his head. Sam is just too young, barely 12 years old.
Dean has been pestering is parents for months. He wanted to learn how to drive. He wanted to learn how to drive the Impala, the car John had promised he'd get on his 18th birthday.
So there they are, driving down the road, John pointing out street signs and telling Dean when to slow down, when to set the turn signal.
His father points at a car parked at the side of the road, he wants to know why that could be a hazard. Sammy answers before Dean gets the chance.
Yeah, a kid could come running from behind the car, right onto the street, so Dean has to watch out.
But Dean feels confident. He knows the car, he's been helping to fix smaller stuff for years now, he's been driving a couple of times before. So he reaches out for the radio and turns it on, pushing the cassette, which was almost pushed in completely, all the way in and ACDC starts playing. Sammy groans, he hates this kind of music.
But Dean just turns up the volume, singing at the top of his lungs.
Until John gives him a stern look and turns it back down, the song barely audible. He tells Dean to focus on driving.
They pass by the house and Dean looks at it in the rear view mirror, when suddenly a loud sound seems to come from everywhere.
Dean lifted his head, groaning. Sammy was sitting at the table across from him, a book lying between them, Sam must have let it fall down on the wooden surface, which woke up Dean.
"Bitch." Dean took a sip of his coffee. It was cold.
"Jerk."
The older Winchester smiled. Whatever it was his brother came to tell him about, no matter how much it might suck, at least he wasn't in the back seat of the Impala, complaining about Dean's sucky driving skills. It's not perfect, not at all. But it's okay.